My cube neighbor also works part-time at a local grocery store. The floral department there was giving away left-over, past-their-prime roses from Valentine’s Day, so she brought some in to work. They smell amazing. Too often anymore, roses have been bred for blossom longevity, shape, and color at the expense of scent. Not these roses, though.
I’ve gotten three e-mails in the last week from family members in Ireland who found my genealogy pages. I’m excited, obviously, but at the same time, it scares the hell out of me. I’ve been ambivalent about this family history project. On the one hand, I want to know, but on the other, gawdalmighty, the responsibility!
So, I’m trying to write an email to a 70 year old great uncle first cousin twice removed (he’s my grandma’s cousin). I’m having some sort of serious social anxiety attack, and it’s not pretty. And when I finish this email, I have to email a third cousin (named Sinead, I kid you not). She’s the great-granddaughter of my great-grandma Nell’s brother. And then there’s another Basquill who contacted me (don’t know how she’s related, but obviously, she is somehow).
Aieee!
red paper boat 